Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “No one does that to our Julia and gets away with it!”

  Keverin nodded. He felt the same, but he would have preferred killing them himself. Still, they were dead and that was all that really mattered.

  “So, why are you encamped here instead of riding to meet Julia?” Keverin asked. He had no doubt she would be spitting mad and in a hurry to return.

  “My fault I’m afraid,” Lucius said. “I advised Brian to hold back.”

  Brian was new in his rank of captain. He had allowed himself to be swayed by an older head. Whether Lucius was wiser as well remained to be seen.

  “Why?”

  “Julia is safe for the moment, as safe as she can be full of Tancred as she is—”

  “Tancred!”

  Lucius nodded.

  Tancred was a dangerous drug for anyone, but it was more dangerous for Julia as she’d had a run in with the vile stuff before. Tancred saved her life then, but later, her addiction nearly killed her. Thank the God she had survived. The worst effects had diminished after a tenday, but it had taken much longer to recover completely.

  “It was the only way to hold her,” Lucius explained. “Demophon must have been a worried man to order the use of Tancred, but though I detested the man, I can understand why he chose it. It really was the only way to prevent her from blasting everything in sight short of killing her.”

  Lucius and Mathius had killed Demophon, five other sorcerers, and destroyed an entire set of rooms in the palace as revenge for Julia’s murder. They hadn’t known at the time she was still alive. If they hadn’t killed Demophon, Keverin vowed he would have, assuming he could that is. Killing a mage was very hard to do—by surprise or with magic were the only ways to have even a remote chance.

  “So you see, Julia’s all right,” Lucius went on. “The warriors are what worry me.”

  “You’ve lost me, Lucius,” Keverin said. “What’s this about, Brian?”

  Brian was almost bursting with his need to speak. “We have more than a few warriors watching us from concealment as we speak, my lord. Lucius found them in his mirror. If we move on, I’m thinking the King won’t like it, especially if we hand him a war in the process. Lucius wants me to wait until they visit us to talk. I prefer the reverse.”

  Keverin nodded. “Bide a moment, Brian.” He turned to Adrik, “My lord, if you’ll follow me?”

  Adrik stood from where he had been studying the mirrors and followed Keverin and Jihan away from the others so they might discuss their options.

  “First, I have a duty to perform,” Keverin said. “The King has confirmed you as Lord of Ascol before the Council. Your father was executed for treason and regicide… I’m sorry,” he added just a little late.

  Adrik’s jaw clenched, but he held the pain at bay. The young man’s eyes were haunted, but they remained dry. “Not really.”

  “No, not really,” he agreed.

  Lord Rowton of Ascol had been his enemy. More, he was the King’s enemy and that of Deva herself. Rowton was beheaded for his crimes as befit his station, but Keverin felt it too good for him. Rowton should have been hung as a common brigand as were all those involved in Julia’s abduction.

  Jihan interrupted Keverin’s reverie. “Gy won’t want a war with the clans; he’s more interested in buying their horses for the new armies.”

  Keverin knew that was true, but Julia was his personal priority. Too many times he had allowed duty to come between them—most notably when the King forbade him from pursuing Julia’s kidnappers the night of her abduction. Gylaren had threatened his removal as Lord of Athione if he did not obey. That had been a tense moment. His removal would have split the kingdom wide open, and although Keverin had no doubt the King would have won in the end, he had been on a sword’s edge, teetering one way then the other in indecision. In the end, he had ordered Brian and all his guardsmen to pursue the kidnappers, while he obeyed the letter, if not the substance behind the King’s order. Gylaren had acknowledged his stance and accepted the situation with good grace; he’d had little choice unless civil war was what he wanted. They had been friends for years and the split between them had been sudden and shocking. He still couldn’t believe it and wondered even yet if it was permanent. He had vowed that if Gylaren’s actions harmed Julia, then their friendship was finished, but privately he had vowed one thing further. If she were harmed, he would challenge and kill Gylaren. Nothing was more important to him than Julia.

  She was his life.

  Putting grim thoughts to one side, Keverin concentrated on the current situation. These hidden watchers or scouts might be useful. He looked around but couldn’t see anywhere they might be hiding. It was said clansmen could hide behind a blade of grass, but this was ridiculous! Although still on the Devan side of the border, it looked indistinguishable from the plain. He could see for leagues, but there was nothing to see, just long grass waving in the chill breeze. Winter was almost here, and he felt it likely they would end their journey back to Athione through the first falls of snow.

  “War isn’t what I want, nor do the clans want it,” Keverin said. “They saved Julia when I was unable to, for that they have my eternal gratitude. I don’t believe war is likely. They have Navarien to worry about.”

  Jihan shrugged. “People can be irrational, but I agree I think. If I had him on my doorstep, I’d be worried indeed.”

  “Why not walk over there,” Adrik said hooking a thumb over his shoulder, “and shout that you want to talk?”

  Keverin’s eyebrows climbed. “Why not indeed?”

  He wandered northward shouting that he wanted to talk. He felt a little silly, but his bubbling hilarity disappeared as if it had never been when dozens of clansmen stood from where they had lain hidden. Worse, some were between him and the safety of his men. Brian was alert to the danger, and suddenly every guardsman of Athione and Malcor had his sword in hand ready to charge to the rescue. The clansmen seemed unconcerned, though they were outnumbered a hundred to one.

  “I am Anwa, warrior of the Jaralk. You may speak to me.”

  “I am Keverin of Athione, Lord Protector of the west—Deva’s west that is.”

  “I know who you are,” Anwa said coldly. “What do you want, man of Deva?”

  How? Maybe Julia had told him. That thought cheered him no end. “My Lady was abducted by Hasian sorcerers. I’ve come to bring her home.”

  “No,” Anwa said simply and turned to leave. The other clansmen turned away silently.

  Keverin stepped forward angrily and grabbed Anwa’s arm. The clansman stopped, and looked at the offending grasp, and he released the warrior reluctantly. “It’s not your decision, Anwa. I am a chief of my people. You are a mere warrior. I demand to speak to your chief.”

  Anwa thought about that for a long moment and then made a sign to one of his men. The warrior nodded and loped away. “We wait.”

  Keverin walked back to his men unhindered, but he was worried. Why, after saying he knew about Julia and him, would Anwa prevent him from seeing her? Were the clans playing some kind of game with him?

  Days of inaction chafed upon Keverin so much he felt he must surely go insane with worry. Yet again he considered breaking camp and moving north in pursuit of Julia, but Lucius’ assurances came back to him and staid his hand. Lucius had used his mirror to assure him that Julia was well. If it hadn’t been so tiring for the wizard, he would have watched her all day and night. Julia was sick, but in no danger from the clans. That might change if he ordered his men north. No, he must wait for Anwa’s chief to come.

  Keverin watched Adrik’s sword practice as the snow came down. The young Lord of Ascol badly needed Jihan’s instruction. Luckily, Jihan was a patient teacher and was carefully working to improve the boy’s speed with repetition of the sword forms he knew so well. The boy’s accuracy was fine—though he had no chance of striking Jihan of course, but his endurance was non-existent, which had the effect of slowing him too quickly. Jihan was a true master of the sword a
nd was fighting at a snail’s pace on his own scale, yet Adrik’s breath smoked white as he panted into the cold winter air. The snow had started just a few days ago and had settled, but there was little wind to whip it up into a blizzard thank the God.

  Anwa’s men remained separate but observant. The ones Keverin could see were watching Adrik’s lesson with interest. Lucius had used his mirror to locate the hidden watchers, but apart from noting the numbers and location of each clansman, they had decided not to acknowledge them. Secrecy was best. It seemed likely they would move if they knew of their discovery.

  “No, no, no!” Jihan said and called a halt to the fight. “You are fixating on my blade, Adrik. You have to ignore such things as the distractions they are. Try to take in all of me; don’t fix on any one thing.”

  “That’s easy for you to say Lor… Jihan,” Adrik said panting and stumbling over the fact that he was now a lord himself.

  Well, he was in name at least. Jihan was a blade-master and a Lord Protector. He denied the title of blade-master simply calling himself a swordsman. Denying it didn’t make it less true though. Everyone knew he was unsurpassed with a sword—with any weapon really. Ignoring mages for the moment, Jihan was the most deadly fighter in the land. Lucky for Deva he was scrupulously honourable in all things. His father had been a traitor, and because of that, Jihan was the most trustworthy lord you could ever hope to meet. He shied away from anything that even remotely reminded him of his father’s behaviour and dishonour.

  “I mean you no insult, chief of Deva, but your son would be better suited to the weavers life—almost any other life than that of a warrior,” Anwa said from behind him.

  Keverin hadn’t heard him approach, but he didn’t betray his surprise. “He’s not my son. I have no sons.”

  “I feel for you, but daughters bring their own joy—” Anwa broke off as Keverin shook his head.

  “I have no children. My title will pass to another line after me, and my ancestors will be forgotten,” he said truly believing for the first time it would happen.

  He had often contemplated adopting an heir, but circumstances had always seemed to intervene. Jihan’s consort was pregnant with their first babe and it brought home to him his own lack. Julia was young yet, but he was forty-two and had never sired a child. Perhaps he couldn’t.

  “That is sad. The boy is a friend then?”

  “He is Lord Adrik of Ascol, and recently become a friend. The other is Lord Jihan of Malcor and Lord Protector of the north—a very good friend.”

  Anwa’s eyebrows lifted at all the titles. Although the clans didn’t have nobles, he understood the meaning of the word. To him a lord was a chief, so he found himself confronted with not one chief as he had assumed, but three. The clans had no use for titles, except perhaps the title of chief and shaman. Everyone else used their given name and thought of themselves as Horse Clan, or Night Wind, or any of the other clans and tribes.

  “That he is a chief and still so abysmal with the long knife is shocking, but outclanner ways have ever been a puzzle. Why so many chiefs?”

  Keverin ignored the insult given to Adrik, the charge was after all true, but he was always happy to talk about Julia. “My Lady is greatly loved and very special to all of us. She is a sorceress, the only one ever born that we know of. She saved our land from the Hasians last year, and helped save it again this last season. Many love her.”

  “She is fortunate indeed,” Anwa said watching the sword practice resume.

  “How fortunate is it to be kidnapped, drugged insensible, half drowned, and then finally taken north away from those she loves?” Keverin said as his anger kindled.

  “Save your anger for those deserving of it,” Anwa said coldly.

  “Oh? And are you not deserving of it? Are you not one of the men holding me on the border away from my Lady?”

  Anwa ignored him as his interest was drawn to the north. Keverin turned to find a party of clansmen riding slowly toward him. Anwa trotted off toward his own people without another word.

  “Brian!”

  “Lord?”

  “Assemble the men. I don’t think we’ll be fighting, but I want everyone ready.”

  “At once, my lord!”

  Keverin nodded as Brian trotted away, and the men struck the camp. By the time the clansmen arrived, the men were mounted and ready for what might come. Keverin had Cavell near at hand, but remained afoot with Jihan and Adrik.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  “I think they will refuse us,” Jihan replied. “If they do, we can beat them best with an immediate charge. That should surprise them and give us time to chop them up.”

  Adrik nodded but he had a suggestion. “Don’t let them say no to you. We have Lucius and Mathius to even the odds.”

  Keverin nodded, he hadn’t forgotten the mages. Both men nodded at him as he looked their way. They were more than ready. There were perhaps five hundred warriors in the approaching party. That was many more than was needed to escort a single chief to the border. It was likely they were here to run him off. If that was so, they were in for the fight of their lives—the last fight of their lives.

  Anwa was talking with an older man that Keverin assumed was the chief of his tribe. Petya was the name of the chief, and Jaralk was the name of an offshoot tribe of Eagle Clan. Keverin knew the names of the clans well enough, but what they meant in strength and numbers of warriors was a mystery to him. Jihan was Lord Protector of this border. If any Devan knew, it would be he.

  “What do you know of the Jaralk? Anything that might help?”

  “Just what everyone knows about the clans—ten nomadic clans but hundreds of tribes. Fierce warriors that can hide under a blade of grass. The clans always meet at a place called Denpasser in the spring where they trade with each other and us when we want their horses. Honourable men I’ve always thought, but they don’t like intruders. To them there are two kinds of people: clan and outclan.”

  Keverin grunted. Such was common knowledge. He would like to know why the clans had intervened and saved Julia. If they wanted to help her, and they obviously did, why bar his way?

  He waited impatiently as one of the newcomers dismounted and together with Anwa approached him. The rest of the clansmen stayed mounted and moved into a line that could charge with little fuss or warning. Keverin raised an arm and swept it to either side. Instantly Brian reformed his men into an opposing line. Neither Petya nor Anwa took any notice—none of the clansmen did.

  “Arrogant,” Adrik mused.

  “Not at all,” Jihan corrected. “They are simply confident—foolishly so in my opinion. We know the clans are good fighters, but they do not know us. If I led them, I would be cautious until I had the chance to take our measure.”

  Keverin agreed. In this situation, caution cost nothing.

  “I am Petya, chief of the Jaralk.”

  “I am Keverin, Lord Protector of the west. My friend to my left is Jihan, Lord Protector of the north. My friend to the right is Adrik, Lord of Ascol.”

  Petya wasn’t surprised to be addressing three chiefs. Anwa had obviously reported his findings. “Why are you here?”

  Keverin gritted his teeth. The man knew why! “We both know the answer to that, Petya. My lady is currently residing in your land and I mean to bring her out. With your help or without it, that will happen.”

  “You listen to me outclanner—” Anwa began angrily, but Keverin cut him off.

  “No you listen!” he roared. “I’ve been kept waiting here for days while my lady journeys further away each candlemark. I’ve been patient up until now, but no more. Either you escort us to Julia or we ride north to find her.”

  Petya was amused. He glanced at Anwa then raised a hand in a complicated gesture. Keverin wasn’t surprised or particularly worried when more clansmen galloped to join those already at Petya’s back. Lucius had been thorough with his mirror. He still had a slight advantage in numbers. He had Brian and a thousand Athione guards
men, Adrik with a hundred from Ascol, and Jihan with two hundred from Malcor. Petya had a thousand, maybe a little less.

  “What say you now, little outclanner?” Petya spat, obviously trying to provoke him into risking action.

  “You are a fool, Petya. Your men will die for nothing. My friends in the colourful robes behind me are mages. You have heard of magic, I trust? I see that you have. If you want to die, fight me alone. There’s no reason to kill hundreds with your stupidity!”

  “We are not afraid to die!” Anwa spat angrily.

  “Where is the honour in dying for nothing though?” Petya mused, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

  “But—” Anwa began, but he was silenced by a look from Petya.

  “What are you proposing?” Petya asked.

  “I propose that we two fight. If I win, you allow us to journey north to find Julia. If I lose… If I lose, I submit to you and hope you have honour enough to bring my lady to me.”

  “Kev, are you sure?” Jihan said. “We can take this many, I’m certain of it.”

  “I’m sure. If we do it your way, hundreds on our side will die.”

  “Hundreds!” Petya spat in outrage. “All of you will die!”

  Jihan smirked and enraged Petya even more—as intended.

  “I agree, but we will not fight,” the chief said.

  “Who then?” Keverin growled, annoyed at being deprived.

  “My son against this smirking simpleton!”

  “No!” Anwa cried in horror.

  Keverin grinned; Anwa knew how good Jihan was.

  “I have said it!” Petya shouted truly angry now.

  “But you—” Anwa began, but he was silenced by a chopping gesture from his chief. Anwa scowled and stomped away in silence.

  Petya gestured and a tall man dismounted to join them. “This is my son, Jolon.”

  Keverin introduced himself and the others then waited for Petya to explain to Jolon the bargain. He was grinning at the end of the explanation, full of confidence.

  Keverin followed Jihan into some space. “Finish this as quickly as you can, Jihan, and please don’t play with him. Would you do that for me?”